


Good Taste

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Holiday, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28210722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Christmas has been a day of agony for Remus, all thanks to Hermione and her penchant for candy canes.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40
Collections: The Marauders Advent 2020





	Good Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Frumpologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frumpologist/gifts).



> Thanks to Frumpologist for the lovely fest! Happy holidays, dear! :*

The Christmas tree brushed the ceiling of the Weasleys’ living room, its branches sagging with ornaments and fairy lights. A mountain of presents beneath had already suffered a few landslides before dinner had been served.

Former students-turned-adults—and people Remus was now honored to call friends—gathered around the living room. Little ones weaved around them as they pilfered biscuits off the counter or secured prime spots in front of the tree, forming gift-unwrapping strategies with a precision that would have made Mad-Eye proud.

The Burrow simply burst with holiday joy, but it was all beyond Remus’s notice because...she was doing it again.

* * *

He had first noticed it three Christmases ago. He had been sitting in that exact spot by the fireplace, nursing a mug of hot chocolate. Children had been jostling for space by the tree at that time, too—George’s boys with Lee Jordan’s twins. For a moment, it made him yearn for a time before, when he and his friends were that young and innocent. 

Well, he thought wryly, that young, at least. The Marauders had never been  _ that _ innocent.

She had come in from the kitchen. The scent of Molly’s cooking wafted through the door as it shut behind her. They had locked eyes instantly. Perhaps he had given her a signal to join him; she crossed the room, stopping to pluck a peppermint cane from the tree, before taking the armchair opposite him. “Happy Christmas, Professor.”

He made a gutted sound. “Please do me the favor of referring to me as ‘Remus,’” he said. “Every time one of your lot calls me ‘Professor,’ it makes me feel about two centuries old.”

Hermione's smile widened. “Remus, then.”

“How are things in America?” 

“Well. Very well." Her eyes brightened. “Professor Branca is absolutely brilliant. I’m lucky to be apprenticing with her.”

“I’ve heard good things.”

“And New York is just...mind-boggling.” She twirled the candy cane absentmindedly between her fingers. “The streets are so busy and packed that it feels claustrophobic at times. But then you look up at the skyscrapers, and they just go on forever, like the sky is higher there than anywhere else. And the food! How can one place have both the best and the worst food in the world?” She laughed softly as if remembering an inside joke.

Remus took in the lovely color on her cheeks, the vivacity that danced in her eyes. “It sounds like we’re about to lose you to the Yanks,” he said, his heart giving an inexplicable twinge.

Hermione tilted her head and returned his gaze. “Never,” she said. “This is home.”

As he shifted in his chair, not realizing how his muscles had tightened as she spoke of America, the door opened again. “There you are!” Ginny barreled towards them. “They told me you had arrived.”

Hermione jumped up and hugged her friend. “Oh, hello!”

“Is that all I get?” Ginny perched on Hermione’s armrest as the latter reclaimed her seat. “A whole year in America, and all I get is a ‘hello?’” She glanced at Remus and grinned. “I hope you don’t mind me commandeering your conversation, Remus.”

He saluted her with his mug. “Not at all. In fact, we were just talking about New York.”

“Really?” Ginny pinned her friend down with an intense stare. “Tell me  _ everything _ .”

Conversation flew between them. One asked questions that became more probing, while the other grew more animated with every answer. Remus sat with them for a few minutes, trying to keep up. When the questions took on a more intimate tone, he was readying to excuse himself so the friends could catch up without his intrusion. And then…

That's when she did it.

Hermione had peeled the plastic from the straight end of the candy cane and inserted the tip between her rose-hued lips. The quietest sound of suction and a tiniest moan of satisfaction hit his ears like cannon fire. It glued him to the spot. How long he sat there, watching the candy cane move between her lips, straining for her sounds...he had no recollection. It was only when the majority of their party poured in from other parts of the house that some sense of propriety returned to him. 

Throughout dinner, he didn’t dare meet her gaze. How strange—how utterly  _ creepy _ he must have seemed to Hermione, sitting there wordlessly, unblinkingly, as she chatted with her friend? Remus shuddered from shame.

It wasn’t until they were all saying their goodbyes that he felt a slip of relief. As he donned his coat, she approached him once again.

“Goodnight, Pro—” She smiled at him bashfully. “Remus. And happy new year.”

* * *

He saw her again the next Christmas. This time, it was she who sat by the fireplace. She faced him and smiled.

It was the only invitation he needed. 

With his cup of hot chocolate in hand, he joined her, thinking himself free of the strange fluke from the year before. How silly it had been; a lonely man's folly. This was Hermione, for Merlin's sake. He should never have allowed himself any thoughts of her lips and the enticing sounds they could produce with a stick of peppermint.

By the time he sat with her, he had almost convinced himself...until she pulled out a candy cane from the pocket of her cardigan.

Mercilessly, it wasn’t long after their how-do-you-do’s that she peeled back the wrapper.

Hermione spoke more of her mentor, of her research, and her time in the States. 

Remus tried his very best to keep track of the topics at hand. He willed his focus on anywhere but her lips and that striped torture device. Forced his gaze up, only to notice how the firelight shone a halo through the outline of her curls. Tried to calm his nerves by taking deep breaths, only to get whiffs of the citrusy sweetness of her perfume. Her presence overwhelmed him. But the longer he sat with her, the more his senses craved more. 

As they sat beside the crackling fire, he wondered if her skin would feel like velvet on his fingertips..and if her ruby lips would taste of peppermint.

* * *

The next year’s festivity was dreary. It might have been the grey weather, or that the full moon was looming. But halfway through dinner, with one less person at the table, Remus admitted to himself the real problem.

Shortly after dessert, he made his excuses. Before he left, he retrieved a present from beneath the tree. As he bent down, he spotted a candy cane. He slipped it off its branch and slid it in his pocket.

Back home, Remus carefully secured the present in twine. He scribbled a note:

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ I hope this finds you well. We missed your presence at tonight’s Christmas dinner, though we were all very happy to hear of your research breakthrough. Congratulations—I had no doubt that you would find the answer to a problem that’s been plaguing generations of wizards before you.  _

_ Happy Christmas. _

_ Remus _

He rolled the parchment and tied it to the package. 

He frowned at the package, hesitating briefly—and then added the candy cane before sending it off with his owl.

* * *

"Remus!"

His eyes snapped up. Harry stood over him with a bemused expression.

"Finally. Do you know how long I've been trying to get your attention? Is something wrong?"

Remus's eyes fell back on Hermione—who sat across the room with Bill and Fleur, a candy cane sliding between her lips—before meeting Harry's gaze again, not without a dose of guilt.

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously behind round spectacles. “Remus—”

“I’m fine, Harry.” Remus jumped up from the armchair. “I think I’ve just been sitting too long by the fire. Some fresh air will do me good.” He hurried away before Harry could respond.

Winter air bit his skin as he stepped outside. He didn’t have his wand on him, but it didn’t matter. He welcomed the shock to his system; perhaps that would loosen whatever hold Hermione and that peppermint cane had over him.

He thought it had finally been over. After his initial owlpost, Hermione had replied back—and soon they were corresponding regularly. Short notes turned into pages-long letters, and then into Floo calls. Each time he spoke with her, he was more in awe of her dazzling personality and intellect.

And, no, her lovely features weren’t lost on him, either...but there was a distinct difference between appreciating her beauty and downright ogling her mouth, and he hadn’t done the latter through the course of the year.

Remus puffed a cloud of a sigh. Delicate snowflakes floated down from solid grey clouds. His arms had begun to shiver when he heard the door open and close behind him. He grit his teeth. “I told you, Harry, I’m fine—”

“Remus.”

His breath hitched at the sound of her voice. Warmth crept into his cheeks as he faced her.

Hermione glanced him over, and a look of admonishment settled on her face. “What are you doing out here without so much as a glove! You’ll catch your death in this cold!” She scolded him as she closed the short distance between them. He grew concerned for himself—certainly that she was intimidating when angry, but also because he found the sternness of her features, the firmness of her tone…

Absolutely  _ beguiling _ . He filed that thought away for later analysis. “Just needed a bit of fresh air.” He pasted a sheepish smile on his face. “It was getting a bit stuffy in there.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to catch hypothermia.” Hermione unraveled the knitted scarf from her neck and looped it over his shoulders. “There.” She tied it into a neat knot at his collar bone. “Better, yes?”

The scarf was a bubblegum pink, weaved with sparkly silver yarn—a present from Molly. This alone would have been fine with him. But with her enticing scent now under his nose, Remus thought it was very much the opposite of ‘better.’ He could only nod.

Hermione ducked her face, laughing under her breath. A hint of a blush painted the tops of her cheeks.

“What’s the matter?” He thought of how silly he must have looked in the scarf. He adjusted the knot at his neck. “Don’t I look dashing in pink?” he teased.

“Yes.”

He froze mid-pantomime.

She raised her eyes, and the look in them warmed him all over. “Yes,” she said. “Very dashing.”

He blinked at her thrice. “We— erm—” His feet stuttered towards the front door. “We should probably head back—”

“Remus—” Her hand grabbed his. It rooted him in place. “I just wanted...to thank you,” she stammered. 

He glanced at their hands. “For what?”

Gently, she tugged on his hand, and his body willingly followed. There were mere inches between them now, yet they felt more expansive than the thousands of miles they had bridged all year through correspondence. “For being there for me this year,” she said. “For being my tether to home.”

Remus was at a loss for words. So, he curled his fingers tighter around hers. His thumb caressed the soft skin of her knuckles.

“There’s something I—” Hermione reached up with her free hand and traced the outline of the marks on his face, so lightly that if he closed his eyes, he would swear it was the wind. She leaned ever closer to him, the scent of peppermint on her breath too tempting to deny. “Remus, will you—”

He would. Remus swooped down and kissed her. To say that it was everything he ever imagined it would be was an inadequate description—his imagination was not this vivid. The feel, the sound, the taste—oh, the taste of her—

“Hmmm.” She moaned deliciously onto his lips. “You taste just how I imagined you.”

His surprise made him pull back a hair’s breadth. “What do you mean?”

Hermione's eyes twinkled. “All these years, all those Christmases spent by the fireside with you, I’ve always imagined you would taste of hot chocolate.” She leaned up and kissed him again. “And I was right.”


End file.
